Ruthless Calculus
by fahRENheit2006
Summary: Renegade Engineer M!Shep. War is simple, it's everyone else who makes it difficult. Exploration of events spanning ME 1 through 3. Profanity, violence, and so far non-explicit adult content. UPDATE: This is in planning stages but not officially in progress.
1. Prologue

**Ren's Note:**

_I'm pretty much a soppy paragon all the time, so I thought I'd challenge myself to get outside the comfort zone. Dumping a prologue in here to feel it out, will write more as I explore events. Not going to be a long novelization, more like highlights of important things. _

_Will adjust rating, likely end up an M (for language and adult content) if the bastard gets his way in everything._

_Mass Effect property of Bioware._

* * *

You always wanted a reason for everything. For me. Nature? Nurture? Did God have a hand in this? Did the Devil? It would be so easy to point at one thing and say "That's to blame for that Shepard boy."

You wanted everything easy. It was my life's goal to make it hard. I believe in everything and nothing at all. God, the Devil, they're all the same to me. The only thing I truly believe in is math.

I always liked math. It had a hand in everything where God came up short and the Devil didn't do enough. There were no secrets with math. It added up or it didn't. You check your work and you try again, because if it isn't working it's your fault, not math's. Math is blameless. It just Is.

That's how I did what I did. No one ever gets that. You always want to know my feelings or thoughts or opinions. As if those have the slightest bearing on anything. Those are mistakes other people make. I just do the math.

Torfan. Simple numbers. The less of your enemy left alive is less you have to kill later.

The Council. A little more complex. The Destiny Ascension was a nice ship, but a nice _asari_ ship, so that variable doesn't quite fit the equation. Hundreds of human lives compared to three ineffectual bureaucrats, however? You don't even need a calculator for that.

The Collector Base. Show your work. You can't prove something exists if you blow it up.

The Alpha Relay. How many lives are worth how many months? Tougher equation, because it's about people versus time. I gave you six months for 300,000 batarians. You tell me if it was worth the cost.

I'm not merciful or heartless, I just did the goddamn math. I'm an engineer, not a saint. Though I do get called a devil. The devil is in the details, after all. And I see the details no one else sees. Or refuses to see because your sentiments fuck it all up.

You don't see the Reapers wasting time with sentiment. I admire them, in a way. Efficient. Thorough. Emotionless. They assess and destroy. Simple.

To beat them we need to be just as ruthless, efficient and thorough.

To beat them, you need me.

* * *

_Testimony of Cmdr J. Shepard, Systems Alliance Tribunal  
2186_


	2. Derivative

[Begin Omni-tool Audio Record]  
DATE: 19:33 PM, 11/04/2170  
LOCATION: SSV Einstein, Skyllian Verge

* * *

"—ppy Birthday, champ! Your very first omni-tool!"

"Holy shi—er, I mean, _thanks_ Dad. Are you sure we can afford it? I mean, mom said—"

"Your mom wants the best for you, and so do I. Besides, it's your big 16th birthday. Earth kids get cars. Colonials get comm terminals. Spacers need omni-tools."

"Thanks, I've wanted one for a long time—"

"I'm home! Did I miss the unwrapping?"

"You're just in time, Hannah. We just got the implant installed and working, he's trying it out now."

"Look, mom! Now I can hack security terminals and bypass data nodes!"

"Shepard…"

"…just kidding? I meant, now I can study harder in school. I got an A minus on my last calculus paper because I was having trouble with derivatives and they wouldn't let us use a reference sheet—"

"That's my boy. But an A minus? You hit those books if you want to make it to Arcturus Station. I expect to see _magna cum laude_ on your transcript."

"Yes ma'am."

"Honey, can I talk to you for a minute, please?"

"What is it?"

"What are you doing to him? He pushes himself hard enough as it is, I hear him muttering equations in his sleep."

"I know that."

"Then can you lay off? It's the boy's birthday, after all. Cut him some slack."

"Slack? Do you want him on some dead-end post soldering some scrap heap? He's gifted, he should be in the Alliance."

"He needs a normal childhood. I was talking to one of the Servicemen during refueling, and he has it right: 'Space is beautiful, but you can't raise a family here.'"

"He needs to be strong, John. To know what's out there. To understand the harsh vacuum of space."

"He's only 16. Why are you cutting me out like this? I'm his father!"

"I don't want to discuss this anymore, Lieutenant. Shepard will be just fi—"

"Don't call him that! He has a name! And you don't get to pull rank on me in the bedroom, Hannah. You may be a Lieutenant Commander out there, but in here you're my wife. And this is something I have equal say in, not less because I'm a Lieutenant."

"Do you want to leave? You're welcome to leave."

"And leave him in your 'care'? I don't think so. I want our son to have at least _some_ semblance of humanity. If you had your way you'd suck it clean out of him."

"I push him. You coddle him. I demand more. You expect less."

"I want him to be _happy_. He's had it hard enough as it is. The fights. The odd behavior. He's just unnaturally _cold_ all the time. Like he doesn't see people as people, but just _things_. Another one of your damn simulations reducing people to data. He's way too young to be that jaded, Hannah."

"You call it jaded, I call it prepared. So what if he gets in a few scuffles? Builds character. He doesn't need friends, he can take care of himself."

"That's what I'm talking about! …Listen to yourself! This is our son! Why are you grooming him to be a monster?"

"I'm grooming him to be a _soldier_, John. And not just some jarhead taking orders, getting dropped into hot zones with a target on his back. He's going to be the goddamn best because he sees what the rest of them can't. I dare you to play chess with him sometime. He's won after he sees an opponent's third move, he's that far ahead of the curve. You don't want another Shanxi, do you?"

"Hannah, please—"

"No, John. I won't live in your fantasy any more. This is real life, and you have to be prepared for the worst. Hoping for the best is a waste of time."

"Hannah…"

"Dad? Mom? Are you guys still fighting?"

"Uh… no, champ. Your mom and I are just… having a discussion. Let's open the rest of your presents."

[End Omni-tool Audio Record]

* * *

**Ren's Note:**

_Boom. Origins. No colony tragedy. No hard life in a gang on Earth. A nuclear military family with nothing remarkable going on. Some people are just born that way._

_I liked the challenge of the stark dialogue to tell a story with no description, so I'll probably use the Omni-tool-as-background device again. This Shepard would want to keep track of all his experiences, both as trophies and learning experiences. He's not sentimental, just prepared._


	3. Absolute Value: Torfan

**Ren's Note**:

_I know, I know. Took me long enough to update. In my defense, I had to write an ME3 Shepley piece that wouldn't leave my brain alone ("Officially Unofficial" if you're interested). And I was watching a LOT of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic these last two months. It's near impossible to write cold and heartless after seeing Twilight Sparkle and company sing about friendship for 40-some episodes._

_Writing time will be divided between this fic and my poor Dragon Age: Unforgotten piece, so please forgive (again) uneven updates._

* * *

"Another round! To Shepard! For Elysium!"

There was a robust "Hoo-ah!" in response as hands thumped tables in tribute. Alcohol flowed freely while swirling lights were just bright enough for conversation but muted enough to cover public indiscretions. All but for the dull bass beat of a club dance tune and the modern dress of the guests, this could have been a mead hall back on ancient Earth. The drunken revelry certainly echoed the debauchery of old.

Female (and male) patrons draped their bodies shamelessly over the muscular forms of Alliance Navy marines, eager to hear the tale of Torfan whispered seductively in their ears. The men and women of Tango company were taking their grounding due to "pending military investigation" very well. Each basked in the attention as they boasted merrily over particularly satisfying kills.

Staff Lieutenant Shepard sat amidst all the attention, but in a curiously shadowed booth. He liked for the action to come to him. When the few that weren't content to smile demurely on the other sides of the room approached him, Shepard would flash his warmest, most seductive grin. It was a grin that promised a good story and maybe even a show to go with it, for the right person and the right drink. So many wanted to be that person.

Shepard was a deceitful drinker, so his glass always seemed nearly empty and begging for a refill. The truth was he carefully selected bitter drinks that masked their alcohol content with a hearty serving of ice, so it was only a matter of sips followed by a flirtatious nod to his glass. Whether it was a barback who responded or an eager worshipper, it didn't matter to Shepard.

Even in the wee hours of the morning, Shepard was calm and collected while his marine brethren collapsed around him (either at tables or into nearby hotel rooms with admirers). The few still conscious speculated wildly on their future.

"Ya.. ya think yer gonna make Commander with this, Shepard?" Service Chief Eric Van Der Meer was staring blearily at his empty glass and rubbing the N7 tattoo on his forearm absently. The marine didn't seem to be aware he'd spoken for he blinked surprise at the sound of his own voice.

"I believe so." Shepard answered the question anyway, swirling his ice cubes in his lowball glass idly.

"They're gonna courtmartial every last one of us. They're havin' a field day at the captain's mast and the end result is our heads on a platter," Corporal Alexandra Jameson growled. She was among the ones who hadn't been basking in praise. Her main objective in attending this soiree was to drown out the screams of the dying, both the batarians' and her fellow soldiers'.

Shepard didn't respond. Though the Corporal's fears weren't unfounded, he wasn't worried. He had two of the Admirals wrapped around his little finger. Another two were weak-willed and easily swayed. Shepard just needed a few moments to make a rousing speech about the heroics of his unit in the face of the bastards who attacked Elysium and they'd start passing out medals.

Only Admiral Steven Hackett saw through Shepard. He was the only one who was unreadable during the debriefing, while the other admirals took turns praising or deploring Tango company's actions. Admiral Hackett liked to interrupt Shepard when he was starting to hit his stride, usually with the same question, "Was that really necessary, Lieutenant?"

_Yes, Goddammit. It was all __"__necessary,__"__ Admiral. You didn__'__t see Elysium._ A vein in Shepard's jaw stuck out as he gritted his teeth, of which Corporal Jameson took notice. Her glassy brown eyes narrowed in a smug squint. "Well, well, emotional-as-an-elcor Shepard finally shows signs of stress." She reached out and sloppily patted Shepard's chin, which he sneered at in disgust.

"Relax, LT. It just means you're human like the rest of us. It was bound to happen sooner or later." Alexandra's head sank to the table and her eyes closed before Shepard could berate her about protocol. _Next time, **Corporal**_.

Van Der Meer snorted. "Yea, right. Shepard's got ice water in his veins. I was there. In the bunker with the snipers pressing in from all corners, the LT didn't even hesitate to blow the support beams and bring the whole thing down. I saw half of Bravo company get crushed under solid rock, and Shepard didn't bat an eyelash."

"You questioning my orders, Chief?" Shepard's tone was dangerous, promising unspeakable malice if he didn't hear the right response.

"Hey, I never said it was the wrong move, Lieutenant," Van Der Meer backpedaled in a drunken haze. He struggled to articulate his point. "But just… just… we lost so many so fast before they put you in charge, then we lost a bunch more as collateral damage. And I never feel right about civilians, even if they are ugly-ass **batarian** women and children."

"None of those women or children hesitated to strip the Elysium colony of every precious resource they could get their grubby hands on." Shepard's voice was even and simple, like he was talking to someone small and stupid who didn't know any better. "They chose to be slavers and thieves. I choose to hunt down and kill slavers and thieves. Cause and effect, Chief."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Shepard," Jameson murmured angrily into the table. Suddenly she stood up, pounded back her half-full beer, and stumbled for the hotel club door without so much as a goodbye or backward glance.

Van Der Meer's eyes followed Jameson out the front door thoughtfully before returning to Shepard. His mouth flapped open and closed like a fish, but whatever he intended to say was locked in his drunk little brain.

Shepard decided he'd had enough socializing with his crew and stood up. He made a casual sweep of the room and saw more than a few heads dart up, eager to make eye contact. Mostly women, but a few men, ran the gamut of sideways glances to downright lascivious hand gestures. Downing his remaining drink in a single swallow, Shepard made blazing eye contact with an attractive auburn-haired woman on a bar stool and nodded his head sideways, communicating with no words: _Let__'__s get out of here._

She responded with a delighted smirk and hopped off her seat eagerly. Shepard offered his arm chivalrously, though the woman didn't seem to grasp what he wanted her to do with it. The awkward pause of three point five seconds was almost too much for Shepard, but she finally understood and slipped her hand around his bicep, squeezing it appreciatively.

The woman (Ann? Amber? Amanda?) chatted inanely while Shepard guided them to his hotel room. He pressed a silencing finger to her lips when he finally found the right door and waved his glowing Omni-tool over it to unlock. She was briefly irritated at his gesture, but the wrinkle in her brow smoothed when Shepard pressed his mouth to hers and his hands expertly caressed her back and thighs.

Giggling mischievously, she nudged the door open with her backside and continued her backwards route to the large bed in the middle of the room while Shepard closed the door with a heel.

* * *

"You don't talk much, do you?" Ann/Amber/Amanda teased, tucking the bedsheet over her breasts and propping her head up with an elbow. Finding the question rhetorical, Shepard said nothing which earned him a _tsk_ of annoyance from his bedmate. He was too distracted by a welcome knock at the door, anyway.

Shepard left the meager comfort of the bed to slide on his pants in order to accept a tray of food from the hotel waitstaff. He sat down at the foot of the bed and tossed the warming lids aside, eager to dig in to his varren steak and starchy vegetables glistening with gravy.

_While I admire the efficiency of the Alliance-issue nutrient pills and MREs, sometimes a man needs a fat cut of meat to feel human. _The first half of that thought was Shepard's, while the second colloquialism had been one of his father's favorite sayings when the Shepards were planetside.

Ann/Amber/Amanda watched the dance of his fork and knife for a few moments, then leaned over to snag a bread roll and the single fluted glass full of rosy wine. She thoughtfully stated, "You're not like all the others."

As she wasn't asking for a response, Shepard continued to chew on his somewhat undercooked steak. He didn't care if her statement was a compliment or an insult. She continued, apparently one of those people who would rather hear the sound her own voice than deal with silence.

"You haven't been loudly bragging about all the batarians you killed for what they did to Elysium." Nothing. Chewing. Sipping. "The rumor around the bar was that you were the leader on Torfan."

Chewing stopped. Shepard cleared his throat, eager to clear up a misconception. He didn't look at Ann/Amber/Amanda. "That's not entirely correct. We were under the command of Major Kyle for the Torfan operation. Due to mission-critical circumstances, he was relieved of command and I was put in charge." Shepard did not elaborate, for the situation surrounding Major Kyle's relief from duty was deemed classified. And Shepard never broke classified orders.

Sympathy for Major Kyle did not cross Shepard's mind. The pressure in those tunnels had been too great and their forces far too fractured for a weak leader to control. After the third company was wiped out by mercenaries with flamethrowers, Kyle simply gave up. Shepard left him in the burning stink of charred marine corpses and ordered the remaining forces to rally. _We__'__ll deal with Kyle later._

"What happened down there?" Ann/Amber/Amanda whispered, running her fingers along Shepard's bare shoulders. Her touch, meant to be sympathetic, triggered something more feral within him. He tilted back and kissed her neck, smearing a little of the gravy from his lips on her bare flesh. Not unhappy with Shepard's change of tone, the woman lounged back on the bed seductively while trailing the bedsheet over her curves.

Shepard followed her recline to rest at her side, hungrily lapping up the gravy on her neck and gliding his hands over her covered body. Her breathing quickened at his lusty demeanor but she remained dutifully still. After a few seconds, Shepard sat up slightly to retrieve several items from his room service tray: the salt and pepper shakers, his spoon, and the extra sugar packets for his rapidly cooling coffee substitute.

Leaning back down, Shepard placed six sugar packets on Ann/Amber/Amanda: one at her left collarbone, one on her right breast, two on her belly button, one on her left thigh, and another above the V-shape where her inner thighs met. The woman shifted under the sheets, intrigued by Shepard's demonstration.

"The batarians were dug in deep underground. Their bases were controlled access points," he said simply, gesturing to her overall body as he palmed the other items. He then hefted the salt and pepper shakers to balance atop her right shoulder closest to Shepard.

He dipped his head down, sending his hot breath under the sheet before straightening it back over her breasts. Ann/Amber/Amanda shivered appreciatively at the ticklish heat.

"We were trapped at choke points between two major bases. Our mission was to exterminate all presence of hostile batarian activity. Quarter optional." At the woman's confused expression, Shepard clarified in annoyance. "It means we weren't obligated to take prisoners."

Shepard nudged the salt shaker towards one sugar packet and the pepper toward the other, then placed the spoon at angle between the two. "We formed tactical strike squads to hit their bases simultaneously to slow reinforcements. But they were ready for us. They bombed two of the mine entrances and trapped us between their major bases, then sent in sweeper teams with flamethrowers to burn us out."

Ann/Amber/Amanda bit her lip in consternation. She lifted her hand to guide a thumb over the crease in Shepard's brow, but he batted it away so she wouldn't disturb his scenario. "Alpha, Whiskey, Delta and Victor companies were cut down in minutes." To emphasize his point, he picked up the spoon, then tossed it away, leaving only the shakers. "I was in charge of Tango company, and assumed control of Bravo, Foxtrot, and Charlie companies."

Shepard pushed the salt and pepper shakers on top of the sugar packets. "I ordered vanguards and infiltrators to set covert singularities in nests of flamethrower troops. Their cannisters would be thrown together, and ignite entire units of enemy mercs. Then the infiltrators would pick off their snipers via infrared. Tango and Bravo then swept one base while Charlie and Foxtrot cleared the other." His hand flicked the packets away, then peeled back the sheet to reveal her bare torso.

Tracing kisses over her collarbone and exposed breasts, Shepard smiled as Ann/Amber/Amanda sighed with pleasure. A light grunt of disapproval bubbled in her throat when his mouth disappeared from her flesh and only cool air touched the damp trail of kisses. He placed the cold metal of the condiment shakers on the valley between her breasts before continuing, this time gesturing at the pair of packets over her belly button.

"Deeper inside the moon was a main access hub that had many entrance tunnels to different parts of their network. We divided into three man teams armed with explosives to blow the tunnels so now our choke point was also their choke point. Or so we let them believe. We actually stashed engineers in hardsuits under heavy metal mine carts under the rubble near the entrances. Our main forces would divert the main force while our units infiltrated them from the sides and locked them out of their own base."

"Were you one of the engineers?" Ann/Amber/Amanda asked in hushed awe. She touched a finger to a tattoo above Shepard's right pectoral. His black and red N7 was surrounded by a red interlacing gear symbol, the symbol for the engineer class. _She__'__s been with a lot of marines_, Shepard thought, slightly disgusted. _I hope she doesn__'__t have any diseases. _It didn't occur to Shepard that she might have family in the military. No, he just assumed she'd slept her way into that knowledge.

"Yes. There were nine of us total. Two were crushed by poorly planned blasts that melted their shelters. A quick end, at least. A third wasn't so lucky, her hiding place was too deep in the shaft so she was buried. We couldn't get her out before her oxygen ran out." _Mostly true, _Shepard thought emotionlessly. Corporal Denise Bordeaux did, in fact, suffocate. However, no effort was made to retrieve her from her rocky prison. They simply didn't have the time or supplies to waste, especially with so much still to do. Shepard ordered her comm channel turned off, for her pleading cries were distracting to the others.

Shepard massaged paths from Ann/Amber/Amanda's breasts around her taut stomach muscles to the packets nestled on either side of her navel. "The six of us remaining entered the base through sewers, ducts and maintenance passages. I was responsible for the west wing," Shepard said, touching the left packet, "while Foxtrot's hacking specialist handled the east." A finger tap to the right.

"We simultaneously breached their network defenses with garbage hacks and emergency protocols, distracting their interior forces while the other engineers did localized hacks in key areas: barracks, armory, medical and comm hubs." Ann/Amber/Amanda's eyes glazed over some at Shepard's rather official description, but she nodded stupidly for him to continue. "It allowed us to turn their turret defenses on them and give our main forces a red carpet into the base."

Using his thumbs to peel the two sugar envelopes away, Shepard celebrated his demonstrative victory by pulling more of the bed sheet down from his lover. Ann/Amber/Amanda guided his head with her left hand as he pressed his tongue once more to her lightly perfumed skin mixed with sweat. Swirls of pressure and heat danced over, between and below her creamy breasts down to the divot of her belly button. His teeth lightly nipped around her ribs and abdominal muscles, eliciting hitched gasps from her clenched lips.

Ann/Amber/Amanda exhaled a satisfied but wanting moan when Shepard broke contact once more. _I hope this finale is as gripping as **his**_, the woman smiled wickedly to herself. Permitted to lift her arms once more, she rubbed her fingertips down Shepard's back, though disappointed when she felt the top of his pants. _We need to do something about these._

Shepard was numb to her touch for the most part, only appreciating it when he felt the feral stirring start to return after its hour of slumber. But reliving the intense insanity of Torfan was more arousing than any bedroom tricks this doe-eyed colony whore could ever dream. He shook his head to resume focus. _Where was I?_

"The last two bases were the clincher. These are why the Alliance News Network reports batarians from across the galaxy pulling out of human systems." Shepard placed salt atop thigh and pepper atop pelvis, each pink packet crinkled under the weight. "One base contained slaves, cargo, drugs and munitions the stinking pirates had amassed. From Elysium, Ferris Fields, Mindoir and who knows how many other human colonies. The hegemony had their best warlord merc bands to protect their investments."

He gestured to the thigh condiments. "And this base was a refugee camp for the families of the batarians on Torfan. There was a hospital, school, even a civic center. I ordered Bravo company to hold the tunnel linking the civilian base to the stronghold to prevent reinforcements and Foxtrot to engage in militia-style harassment. Tango and Charlie companies followed me to the civilian structure." Ann/Amber/Amanda bit her lip again, her fingers no longer feeling amorous.

"They put up a small fight, but I used drones to herd them together. Most we executed where they stood. The more fearful we gathered up, and they followed. Like defeated animals." His even tone chilled her. He described mass murder as one would comment on the weather. She flinched when he swept the sugar packet away from her thigh and herded the salt shaker up to its mate.

"Bravo company, unfortunately, couldn't hold the tunnel which would have allowed the encroaching forces a flank position, so I ordered the bombing of the tunnel."

"...you... killed them?" Ann/Amber/Amanda could only whisper. _Is this what we were celebrating back in the bar? Good God!_

"No, falling rubble killed them." Shepard's maudlin joke fell flat. He flicked his eyes up to meet hers, but the horror reflecting back was distant. He dismissed it as lack of comprehension. _She doesn't understand the art of battle._

"We sent an emergency encoding indicating parley, but the batarian warlords in their cozy fortress of contraband demanded their citizens and our weapons in exchange for our lives. So we gave it to them. Embedded in the civilians' shackles, clothes and shoes were discarded mass effect heat sinks triggered to detonate via Omni-tool. Their own people carried it to them. The force of the blast caused a mass cave-in. Half of Charlie company and most of Foxtrot didn't make it out."

Shepard backhanded the salt and pepper shakers off of Ann/Amber/Amanda to dull thuds on the floor. When he reached down to yank the rest of the bed sheet off, she grabbed his wrists to stop him.

"No. I don't want to."

"Don't want to? You don't want to fuck a 'hero' again?"

"You're not a hero. You're a murderer."

Shepard's grin was toothy and ominous. "You say that now. I saw you in the bar, celebrating along with your friends. You all toasted that Elysium was avenged. And it was."

"I didn't know."

"You don't know a lot of things. Don't you feel better knowing the truth? Now you can tell those same friends who are banging my marines right now that you heard the whole story straight from the source. You'll be a legend." _Among colony whores_.

Ann/Amber/Amanda exhaled in that huffy, disgusted way that women do. She shoved Shepard back and started to gather her clothes. He didn't move to stop her, and bit back a laugh when she nearly tripped over one of the condiment cylinders. _Salt or pepper? Isn't spilling salt bad luck?_ Shepard wondered idly. He held out her bra which she snatched out of his hands with an overly dramatic "Hmph!"

"Could you order me a bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy on your way out? Thanks, darling. I didn't catch your name. Mine's Shepard."

He didn't look up to see the dark expression on the woman's face as she darted out the door. He didn't care. He just received a message on his Omni-tool to report back to Alliance HQ at 0900 for a ruling on the Torfan investigation.

_They'll see things my way soon enough,_ Shepard thought as he carefully smoothed the creases in his dress blues on the hanger in the closet. _It__'s only a matter of time._


End file.
